Summertime Blues

2. THE SMELTINGS STICK

The next morning, the mood at number 4, Privet Drive was as subdued as the grey sky which seemed to blanket the whole of Surrey.

Dudley and his parents were getting ready for a day's shopping in London. As well as buying him some new clothes, Dudley's mum and dad wanted to pick out some presents for his birthday, which was less than a week away.

Because he had nothing else presentable to wear, Dudley was dressed once more in his school uniform.

"After all, you can't been seen out in those raggy old things," said his mum, throwing one of Dudley's old pullovers to Harry. Harry caught the pullover and, for some reason, did a little dance. "I'm free, I'm free!" he sang in a squeaky voice. When he caught Dudley staring at him, Harry turned away, laughing. No, thought Dudley. I'm definitely normal compared to him.

"Don't forget your Smeltings stick, Dudders," said his dad as he came downstairs. "See, I've brought it down for you."

"Oh, I don't think--" began Dudley.

"Nonsense, son" boomed his dad. "Your uniform's not complete without your Smeltings stick!"

So Dudley took the Smeltings stick and tucked it under his arm.

"Can I come in the car with you?" asked Harry. Petunia Dursley flinched and made a little whimpering noise, while Dudley and his father stared at Harry in astonishment. "Not to come shopping," said Harry quickly. "Just to go to London. I thought I'd visit a friend of mine."

The Dursleys looked at one another. They'd met a few of Harry's friends in the past and hadn't hesitated to make their opinions of _those people_ clear. But today no one seemed to want to raise the normally popular subject of freaks and weirdoes.

"If you must," grunted Vernon Dursley. Harry followed them out to the car and got into the back seat next to Dudley.

It was June and, in spite of the gloomy weather, London was at the height of its tourist season. Even on quiet days, the Oxford Street shopping district was normally busy. Today it was so packed that the Dursleys and Harry could barely move one step to the left or right as they made their way through the crowds.

Dudley didn't like crowds. They made him feel trapped and he was sorely tempted to put his Smeltings stick to work. He'd fallen behind his mum and dad and was almost as far back as Harry.

"You Muggles have some very wise sayings!" said a voice behind him. "You really can feel lonely in a crowd!" Dudley turned to see a balding red-haired man beaming at him with unnerving enthusiasm. "Dudley, isn't it?" said the man, "I'd know you anywhere! My, but you've grown! I don't suppose you remember me, do you...? Arthur Weasley!"

Arthur Weasley put out his hand and Dudley shook it apprehensively. They'd come to a standstill in the middle of the street and other shoppers were pushing past bad-temperedly, but Mr Weasley didn't seem to realise there was a problem. Dudley hadn't remembered Mr Weasley's name, but he recognised him instantly as the father of the boys who'd tricked him into eating a tongue-expanding sweet the year before. Mr Weasley had been very apologetic and in the end had managed to shrink Dudley's tongue back to its proper size, but seeing him again put Dudley on his guard.

"Um..." Dudley said, feeling rather stupid.

"And how's Harry?" asked Mr Weasley.

"Fine!" said Harry, who had just appeared behind them. "What are you doing in the Muggle world, Mr Weasley?"

"Oh, research!" replied Mr Weasley airily. "You can't work with Muggle artefacts if you don't understand how they're sold. As a matter of fact, I'm writing a report on instances of Muggle swimwear being affected by transparency curses when it comes in contact with water..."

"How's Ron?" asked Harry. "I'm on my way to Diagon Alley see him right now."

Mr Weasley beamed. "He'll be pleased to see you. He and Ginny have been very busy, helping out Fred and George -- you remember Fred and George, Dudley?" Dudley grunted. As if he could forget! Mr Weasley continued, "Well, the twins have started up a stall in Diagon Alley market selling their jokes this summer. Ron's been working with them most days. It'll be nice for him to catch up with his friends. Will it be your first trip to Diagon Alley?" This last question was directed at Dudley.

"No," said Dudley. "I mean --" He couldn't seem to get the words out. He felt as though he'd eaten a whole bag of ton-tongue toffee.

"Dudley's shopping with his parents," explained Harry.

"Oh, that's splendid!" Mr Weasley looked around as if he expected to spot the Dursleys somewhere in the crowd. "I must say hello to them!"

Dudley grimaced at the thought of letting Mr Weasley anywhere near his parents again. Judging by Harry's expression, they were agreed on that matter at least. But the crowd didn't seem to be moving any more.

"What's going on?" said Harry. He jumped up, trying to see what was going on over the sea of heads. Mr Weasley wasn’t having any better luck. Dudley, being a little taller, could just about see what was going on further down the street.

"The street's been barracaded off," he said. "The police are here. It looks like a bomb scare."

The crowd was getting restless as more and more people realised they couldn't move forward. Some of them tried to turn back and fights broke out here and there as others took offence at being pushed out of the way.

Dudley, Harry and Mr Weasley were pinned against the glass shop front of a store selling beachwear of all kinds.

"What is a bomb scare, anyway?" said Mr Weasley. He seemed quite excited to be caught up such a dramatic Muggle event.

"It's like, terrorists blowing stuff up," said Dudley. Mr Weasley's polite but confused expression told him that the explanation wasn't very helpful.

"Kind of the Muggle version of Avada Kedavra," explained Harry.

Mr Weasley looked shocked. "What are we doing still here?" he said. He looked round suspiciously at the surrounding people. "Are all these Muggles terrorists?"

"No," said Harry, "but you're right, we need to get out of here as soon as possible." As he said this, a man in a business suit stumbled and fell against them. When he regained his balance, he turned on Mr Weasley with a murderous expression on his face.

"You need to disapparate," said Harry quietly.

"I can’t leave you boys..."

"Yes, you can. You have to!"

Mr Weasley looked worried. "Not in front of all these Muggles," he said.

"You call us something, slaphead?" said the man. He wasn't alone. A few of his friends, all dressed for the office, gathered round.

Mr Weasley seemed to experience a change of heart. "We can all get out of here," he whispered. "You got your wand, Harry?"

"Yup," said Harry, removing it from inside his coat.

"And I see Dudley has his," said Mr Weasley.

"Huh?" said Harry and Dudley in unison.

"Muggles don't have wands," said Harry.

"But, surely--" Mr Weasley's voice trailed away.

Dudley suddenly realised what Mr Weasley was looking at. "It's my Smeltings stick," he said. "It's for hitting people with," he added, wondering how long it would be before Mr Weasley got to witness a demonstration of the Smeltings stick in action. The smartly dressed gang didn't seem like they were about to back down. In fact they were getting angrier by the second. One of the men shoved him in the chest. That was one of the worst things about being tall. Everyone wanted to fight you, even when you weren’t in the mood. Suddenly Dudley was glad he'd brought the stick with him.

"This is terrible," said Mr Weasley. He sounded genuinely concerned. "We really need three wands to make a triangle. I suppose two might work at a pinch, but..." He looked at the Smeltings stick thoughtfully. "It’s oak, isn’t it?"

"Is it? I dunno," Dudley wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation. He and the man were busy shoving and glaring at one another. The man had said something about Dudley’s school uniform. Apparently he thought the orange knickerbockers were an indication of Dudley’s inability to beat him to a pulp. Dudley was about to prove him wrong.

"Oak’s a pretty good conductor of magic," said Mr Weasley nervously. "Look, pay attention Dudley," Sighing, he fixed Dudley’s attacker with an immobilisation charm. The man fell to the ground. Dudley stared in disbelief. "OK," said Mr Weasley. "That’ll hold him for a few seconds! Now hold your wand -- OK, stick -- just so. And Harry too. Good. Now..." Mr Weasley took a deep breath and cried, "Domosalta!"

The three of them disappeared.

As far as Dudley could tell, one minute he was standing in the middle of a fight on a crowded West End street, holding up the Smeltings stick so it formed one side of a wooden triangle. The next, he found himself standing in the tiny foyer of an old-fashioned looking shop with Harry and Mr Weasley.

Shafts of light streamed through the shop's tiny windows and specks of dust danced in the sunbeams.

"Unbelievable!" said Mr Weasley.

"Why are we in Ollivander's?" asked Harry. "Was that meant to happen?"

Mr Weasley rubbed his bald patch thoughtfully. "Well, if we'd been using three wands, it's exactly what should have happened," he said. "Domosalta is a spell we use in the Ministry to check where wands have come from. It forces the wand of the spellcaller, mine in this case, to take us to where it was made. Very useful with all the illegal imports knocking about these days. But --" Mr Weasley shook his head. "I'm surprised it worked so well with a -- what do you call it? -- Smeltings stick?"

Dudley was also surprised -- and a little horrified -- by what the Smeltings stick had achieved. He looked at it as though it had turned into a snake in his hands. What else might it do when he least expected? He decided he'd have to hit people with it more gently in future.

"I do wish you Ministry people would ring a bell or something when you Domosalta into my shop," came an irritable voice from the back of the shop. "How am I supposed to know you're here?"

An old man appeared from behind a black curtain that separated the stockroom from the front of the shop. "Ah, it's you Weasley. I might have guessed! And... Harry Potter? Nothing wrong with that wand of yours, is there?"

"Hullo again, Mr Ollivander," said Harry.

"And you must be Harry's cousin," said Mr Ollivander. His silvery eyes smiled. "Dudley, isn't it?" He nodded towards the Smeltings stick. "Nice to be able to put a face to the wand at last!"

"This?" said Dudley, puzzled. "It's not--"

"I think I know my own handiwork when I see it," Mr Ollivander said briskly. ("Ah!" said Mr Weasley) Mr Ollivander took the Smeltings stick and examined it with affection. "Ah yes, oak with dragon heartstring, unusual design, as requested by Dumbledore. Didn't want you going off to that Muggle school of yours without a wand at least. It's served you well, I hope?"

"I hit people with it," said Dudley. He thought that probably wasn't the right thing to say.

Mr Ollivander took a sharp breath and muttered something about trendy parents who insisted on sending their children to Muggle schools. Mr Weasley looked a bit shocked too, but he was more optimistic.

"The boys are off to meet up with Ron now," he told Mr Ollivander. "I’m sure spending time with Harry and my kids will get Dudley more confident with magic in no time!"

Dudley and Harry looked at one another, each grimly resigned to the other's company, at least until Mr Weasley left them. As soon as that happened, thought Dudley, he'd get Harry to show him how to get back into Normal London. Then he could see if he could find his mum and dad in Oxford Street, or, failing that, make his own way back to Surrey.

But Mr Weasley didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave them. "Tell you what, boys," he said as they left Ollivander's. "We'll go and pick up Ron and Ginny at the market stall and then I can take you all to lunch at the Leaky Cauldron."

Diagon Alley market was like no market Dudley had seen in his life. Instead of normal pullovers and trousers, the stalls displayed robes of all colours and fabrics for sale. Many stalls sold jars of mysterious powders and potions whose purpose Dudley couldn't even begin to guess. And everywhere, absolutely everywhere, the strangest people he'd ever seen were calling out their wares, trying to get him to buy.

When they approached Fred and George's "Wizard Wheezes" stall, the twins were busy demonstrating a pair of Self-Reversing Underpants to a knot of bystanders. Ginny was in the middle of serving a customer and Ron was standing at the back of the stall looking glum. He brightened up a little when he saw Harry and nudged Ginny. Ginny looked up at them and dropped the customer's change into a vat of strawberry flavour Belching Blancmange. She went as pink as the blancmange as she struggled to retrieve the money from the burping goo.

"Do you remember Dudley?" asked Mr Weasley excitedly. The smirks on the twins' faces told Dudley they remembered him only too well. "He's just found out he's a wizard too!"

Fred nudged George, laughing. "There you go, dad. It wasn't us playing tricks with that toffee. Dudley must have enchanted it all by himself!"

"He's a wizard?" scoffed Ron. "You must be kidding!"

"Take no notice of Ron," said George. "He's just in a bad mood because he got an owl from Hermione today. She's gone on holiday with Viktor Krum's family. Having a lovely time, apparently..."

"That's nice. Anyway, I expect you're getting hungry," said Mr Weasley. "What do you say Ron and Ginny come to the Cauldron with us and get a bite to eat?"

"Best idea I've heard all day," said Ron.

"Yes, run off and eat, you lot," said Fred. He put his hand to his forehead melodramatically. "Don't worry about us..."

The Leaky Cauldron was just starting to fill up when they arrived. As they took their seats at a table near to the kitchen, Ron elbowed Harry in the ribs. "Look who it is," he whispered, nodding to a waitress who was carrying a tray of butterbeers to another table.

As the waitress turned to go back to the kitchen, she saw them and her face broke into a beautiful smile. "'Arry Potter! And Ron! 'Ow are you?"

"Hey, Fleur," said Harry.

Ron's ears went pink. "Didn't know you were still in London."

Fleur laughed. "Mais oui," she said. "I 'ave a job lined up for zee autumn, but right now I am living in London and waitressing 'ere at zee Cauldron. It is a good job for practising your English, no?"

"Good for you!" said Mr Weasley, smiling warmly at Fleur. "Fleur, have you met Dudley?"

"So what's this about a new job in the autumn..?" Ginny asked her curiously.

"Yes," said Ron, "You're not the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, are you?"

Fleur laughed politely and turned her attention to Dudley. "So, Dudley. 'Ow is it zat I did not meet you at 'Ogwarts last year?"

"Dudley doesn't go to Hogwarts," said Mr Weasley. "He goes to a school for Muggles, isn't that right?"

"Really?" Fleur's eyes sparkled as she smiled at Dudley. "'Ow very interesting."

"Hm," said Dudley.

Under the table, Harry kicked him in the shin. "In fact," said Harry, "Dudley's only just found out he's a wizard..."

Dudley kicked him back hard, but Harry just smiled at him, unperturbed. Apparently he found Dudley's discomfort very amusing. Fleur, however, seemed fascinated. "Amazing!" she said.

Dudley squirmed uncomfortably. He knew he wasn't the fat kid anymore, but why would any girl want to talk to him? And especially one who looked like Fleur? And what on earth were you supposed to talk about with them, anyway? Four years of attending Smeltings Boys' School hadn't given him many opportunities for mixing with the opposite sex. In fact, the only girls he'd had much to do with were the bikini clad warrior women of his Mega-Mutilation game and, although Fleur was better-looking than any of them, somehow he couldn't imagine her running around, stabbing and judo-kicking her enemies to death.

As Fleur handed out the menus, Dudley realised he was very hungry. Last night's supper had been forgotten in the midst of all the upsetting revelations. Apart from his morning grapefruit segment, he'd not eaten since he'd had his salad yesterday, on the way home from school. On the other hand, he thought, recalling Fred and George's sweets, was it safe to eat anything from these strange people? "I'll just have some chips," he said.

Fleur shook her head with a disbelieving smile. "Chips? But zay are so stodgy, so boring!" she said. "You cannot 'ave chips when I 'ave made a beautiful quiche just zees morning. Oh Dudley, do not 'ave chips!"

"Quiche sounds lovely," said Mr Weasley handing his menu back to Fleur. "I'll have a slice too, if I may. And a small butterbeer."

If Mr Weasley was going to try the quiche, then surely there couldn't be anything wrong with it, thought Dudley. Fleur smiled so encouragingly that he relented. "OK," he said, "I'll try the quiche."

As soon as Fleur was out of earshot, Ginny giggled. "I think she likes you, Dudley!"

"No she doesn't," muttered Ron.

Dudley didn't say anything. He could feel his face burning. Ginny had to be wrong. Fleur was just laughing at him. She found him ridiculous, just like the twins did - even to these freaks, he was a freak.

"And 'ow did you enjoy my special 'omemade quiche, Dudley?" asked Fleur as she took away his empty plate. There was a melodic little laugh in her voice as she said his name.

The quiche had been beautiful. Even his mum didn't have such a light touch with pastry, Dudley had to admit to himself. And his mum would never have made quiche. It was so strange, so foreign, so... abnormal. And so delicious! But Dudley had had enough of being laughed at. Of being treated as though he was stupid by all these freaks. Of being a freak himself. "It was OK," he said grumpily, without looking at her.

Fleur collected their plates and glasses and carried then back to the kitchen, looking puzzled and a little hurt.

Everyone had hot chocolate to round off their meal. Afterwards, Fleur took their mugs away in silence.

Dudley usually felt contented and sleepy after eating, but thinking about Fleur troubled him. He wondered whether he should apologise for his rudeness to her, but apologies weren't really his thing. He consoled himself that she was probably just pretending to be hurt in order to get a reaction out of him. Girls who looked like that must feel an incredible sense of power, he thought. He supposed Fleur found it very amusing to pretend to be interested in him. She was merely stung that he hadn't taken the bait, he decided. That idea made him feel quite pleased with his own perceptiveness. In fact, he could have convinced himself entirely that this was the case, if it hadn't been for the reproachful looks that Ginny cast in his direction every so often.

"It must be quite interesting for you," said Mr Weasley. He sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly. "Going all this time thinking you were a Muggle and now..."

Interesting wasn't the word Dudley would have chosen. Try humiliating, he thought. Frightening, even -- although he hated to admit it, even to himself. But as far as freaks went, he was finding it hard to dislike Mr Weasley too much. Dudley didn't want to offend him, so he just shrugged in reply.

"I expect you can't wait to start practising a few spells," continued Mr Weasley brightly, nodding towards the Smeltings stick, which was propped up by Dudley's chair. "Don't worry; I expect Harry will lend you his textbooks and I'll get you Ministry clearance to practise. Ask him to show you a basic levitation spell, that's what they started us off with when I was in school..."

Practising spells? Dudley couldn't believe how easily Mr Weasley could talk about the idea! Practising spells was the last thing he planned to do. What Dudley really wanted was to learn how _not_ to do magic. That way his family could return to normal.

His parents had been quiet to the point of surliness when they'd set out for London that morning. Even though they seemed to appreciate Dudley's efforts to prove he was still normal, both his mum and his dad had set up invisible walls to distance themselves from him. There had been no endearments from his mum, no playful punches from his dad. It was almost as bad as being... Dudley took a sidelong glance at Harry, who, with Ron, was poring over a magazine article about something called Quidditch. No, he thought. Harry was OK. It didn't bother him a bit that he was an outcast in his own home. Did it?

"I don't know..." Dudley began.

"Oh, I know you must feel a bit funny about doing magic," said Mr Weasley, not realising he'd just nominated himself for Dudley's understatement of the year award, "but honestly, it's best to start sooner rather than later. You're at an age where your magic's getting strong very quickly. If you don't learn how to control it... Well, let's just say magic's a good servant, but a bad master."

Dudley was unnerved to realise that the others had started paying close attention to the conversation. Ron wasn't looking terribly upset, but Ginny's expression was one of horror. He felt like telling her that, whatever Mr Weasley had meant, it couldn't be anything really bad. Except he had a nasty feeling that might not be true. Harry looked as if he was going to say something, but then changed his mind.

"What?" said Dudley, eyeing him suspiciously.

Harry shifted in his chair. "I was just going to say, it may not be as bad as you think. Being a wizard, I mean."

"There's nothing bad about it at all," said Ron irritably. "What are you, some kind of Muggle version of a Death Eater?"

"He's not a Muggle," hissed Ginny. But she too was looking surprised that Dudley could think there was anything wrong with being a wizard.

Mr Weasley, however, smiled sympathetically. "It's your parents, isn't it? Not too keen on the idea, right? If you like, I could have a word --"

"NO!!!" said Dudley and Harry together. Dudley looked at Harry, astonished that his freak cousin understood his mum and dad well enough to realise that much at least. Harry shrugged with a wry grin. Ginny giggled nervously, looking from one to the other. Dudley couldn't help himself. He grinned back.

The "barrier" between Dudley and Harry hadn't exactly crumbled. But, even if he could, Dudley wasn't ready to smash it down completely. He was too used to making his own rules (while the Smeltings teachers weren't looking, at any rate). The idea of having to look up to Harry, of all people, as the wise expert -- of having to rely on Harry to guide him in any part of his life -- didn't appeal to him at all. But the nerve-wracking events in Oxford Street and then the relative congeniality of an afternoon in Diagon Alley had seen a hairline crack appear in the barrier's granite surface. They were just a little closer to understanding one another. Harry was still a freak, thought Dudley, but then so was he. And perhaps Harry was the only one who'd be able to understand why he wasn't jumping for joy at the discovery that he was a wizard.

Even so, Dudley had hoped he wouldn't have to ask Harry how to get back to Oxford Street. He'd just go when Harry went, he decided. No need to ask for help, no need to show weakness. However, it was nearly three o'clock and he worrying how long it would be before his parents did something embarrassing like call the police.

"We need to get back," he said.

That was when Harry told him that was going over for dinner at the Burrow. "I won't be back till sevenish," Harry said. "Can you let them know for me?"

"Perhaps Dudley would like to come with us," said Mr Weasley, not noticing Ron's outraged reaction to the suggestion. "You can call your parents and let them know where you are. We've got our own fellytone," he added proudly.

"No, I need to get back early," said Dudley, thinking of the next morning's visit to Grunnings with his dad. His dad had given him a stack of brochures about all the different kinds of drills Grunnings made and Dudley hadn't even looked through them yet. Besides, although his mum and dad weren't too bad about him going anywhere, as long as he phoned to let them know where he was and when he'd be back (and when Harry was out of the house, they seemed positively relieved), he knew they wouldn't be thrilled about him going to the Weasleys.

"How are you going to get home?" asked Mr Weasley. "Will you call a taxing cab?"

"Yeah," said Dudley. "I'll get the underground as far as Victoria, then I can get a taxi from the rank outside the station." Then his face fell as he realised that even travelling as far as Victoria was going to be a problem. He'd been counting on going back in his dad's car. "I didn't bring any money," he said.

"Why don't you take the Knight Bus?" suggested Harry. "C'mon, I'll show you how..."

Outside the Leaky Cauldron, the sky looked as though it was getting ready for another downpour. Rubbish weather for June, thought Dudley, who'd started getting into tennis during his last term at Smeltings and had been planning to join the local club in Little Whinging.

"All you do," explained Harry. "Is hold out your wand hand. And the Knight Bus will stop for you. Then you tell the driver where you want to go."

Hesitantly, Dudley held out the Smeltings stick. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed that someone a few yards down the street was doing the same thing. A slim, silvery blonde someone, wrapped up warmly in royal blue robes. But before he could worry about the embarrassment of meeting Fleur again, the bright purple triple-decker Knight Bus made its explosive arrival in a shower of golden sparks.

Dudley had seen too many weird things that day to be surprised by the sudden and dramatic appearance of the Knight Bus. However, he was only used to Muggle buses, on which people don't normally leap out to welcome passengers on board. It was only thanks to Dudley's quick reflexes that he managed to step out of the way before he could be knocked off balance when the conductor flew out of the bus like a cannonball in a purple uniform.

"Watch yerself, mate," said the conductor, laughing at Dudley's evident shock.

Dudley took another step back and tried to compose himself. He could see Fleur moving towards him now -- or rather, towards the Knight Bus. He couldn't help noticing that she too seemed amused. He was torn between relief that she seemed to have cheered up again and furious embarrassment that it was at his expense.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus Daytime Service," said the Purple Cannonball. It sounded like a well-practised speech. "My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this afternoon. Just tell us where you want to go and we'll do the --" he paused and looking over Dudley's shoulder, beamed: "Awright, Neville?"

Dudley turned to see who the conducter was talking to, but Harry and the Weasleys hadn't been joined by anyone else. Ron's face was a mask of resigned boredom, Ginny was shivering a little in the chilly afternoon. There was no one called Neville anywhere in sight.

"Long story," muttered Harry by way of explanation. "Hullo, Stan."

Mr Weasley put an arm round his daughter. "Cheer up Ginny, we'll go back by Floo Powder. You'll be back at the Burrow, warming your toes by the stove in no time."

"Where you off to today, then, Neville?" asked Stan.

"Not me," said Harry. Dudley thought Harry sounded relieved that he wouldn't be going back to Little Whinging by the Knight Bus. Was it Little Whinging that bothered him, Dudley wondered apprehensively -- or travelling on the Knight Bus? "My cousin needs to get home," Harry explained.

Stan grinned at Dudley. "Neville's cousin, huh? Choo live in that pretty little town wiv all the trees, like Neville does, then?"

That sounded like Little Whinging, thought Dudley. He hesitated though. Who knows what craziness these people are capable of, he thought. He didn't want to end up stranded in some picturesque village, in Northern Scotland or Outer Mongolia or somewhere, that happened to look like Little Whinging, but wasn't. "Er..."

"That's right," said Harry quickly. "He's going to Privet Close."

"’Ere, Neville’s cousin," said Stan suddenly. "That your wand, is it?"

"Er, yeah," said Dudley. He was still holding the Smeltings stick out in front of him. Now he self-consciously tucked it back under his arm.

"It’s a big 'un, innit?" said Stan admiringly.

"Of course, it’s not zee size of zee wand zat matters," said a cold voice that made them both start. Fleur was standing right next to them, her arms folded, waiting to board the Knight Bus.

Instinctively Dudley stepped aside for her. Fleur ignored him.

"I wish to go to Fentiman Road, in Vauxhall," she told Stan imperiously.

"Takes all sorts," said Stan cheekily. Then he took a second look at Fleur as she swept past him onto the Knight Bus and his whole attitude changed. "Whatever you say, darlin’," he called after her as he followed her back onto the bus. "Whatever you say!"

Dudley shrugged at Harry, but Harry was looking anxiously at Stan, who seemed to have forgotten his duties as Knight Bus conductor altogether and had followed Fleur down into the bus.

"Quick, get on," Harry said. "She's part-Veela. Stan's going to just forget you and drive off if you're not careful."

"Part what?" Dudley had started feeling pretty comfortable with the idea of being weird, when "weird" just meant going out for lunch with the Weasleys. Now he was starting to feel out of his depth again. He didn't like it. "You do know I've no idea what you're going on about, don't you?" he snapped.

"Just get on the bus!" Harry told him.

Dudley got on the bus.